


Life Hereafter

by KataleesaSkywalker



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Canon, Angst, Bonding, Brotherly Love, Coming Out, Dark Dean Winchester, Dark Sam Winchester, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Lucifer (Supernatural) Needs a Hug, M/M, Mpreg, Parents Castiel & Dean Winchester, Pregnant Castiel, Redemption, Sam and Dean are Assholes for a bit, Slow Build Castiel/Dean Winchester, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:56:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KataleesaSkywalker/pseuds/KataleesaSkywalker
Summary: Two months after the big showdown with Lucifer, the Winchesters are still unable to deal with what happened.Cas is dead. Crowley sacrificed himself to save them. Eileen was a victim of the BMoL. Their mother was dead, again. The brothers can't be bothered to care about saving people and hunting things anymore. They've lost too much and gained too little.And they're tired of giving a fuck.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season 12. 
> 
> Also, it never made any sense for Mary to be resurrected, so I'm going to just pretend she died instead of got dragged to a hell dimension, and that Kelly wasn't ACTUALLY dumb enough to give birth to a damned antichrist, okay? Great.

Everyone was gone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean had always expected this outcome. He supposed that despite all odds, he hoped that things would end differently. He once had a dream that he'd end up old and gray, retired on a lake somewhere, a fishing pole in one hand and a cold beer in another, with Castiel next to him describing the very first fish that God had created. Sammy moved in with some pretty girl he met at the bookstore or something equally nerdy like that, with a couple of kids and a labradoodle.

The Apple pie life. 

But that's all it had been, of course. A dream. A fucking _fallacy_. Good things didn't happen to the Winchesters. They were cursed, and they had been since Grandpa Henry. Hell, maybe even before that. He shouldn't have expected anything less than what he got, but like an idiot, he hoped that life wouldn't completely screw him over and let him have some happiness for once.

They deserved good things, right? After everything they had been through, after everything they had _sacrificed_. Somewhere along the way, there had to be some sort of balance so that all the really bad, fucked up crap might actually be worth it. 

 _Good things do happen, Dean_.

He huffed a bitter laugh as he swallowed another shot of whiskey, his eyes trailing over to the rumpled, and bloody trench coat that was lying on the library table in front of him. The blood was faded now, more a dark brown than crimson red, the only indication of how much time had passed since... everything happened. He had lost track of it awhile ago. He couldn't even remember when the last time it was that he saw his brother. For all he knew, Sam wasn't even there.

Sam was grieving, too. Castiel had been his closest friend and brother. He had begun to care deeply for Eileen. Not to mention they lost their mom, _again_ , and had zero clue how to fix any of this. The only solace he had was the fact that Kelly Kline hadn't actually been dumb enough to give birth to Lucifer's spawn. Unfortunately for her, both she and the Devil were permanently trapped in that alternate hell dimension, thanks to the spell Crowley cooked up.

 _Crowley_. He still couldn't believe the bastard had killed himself to save them. 

Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair and gazing at the coat once more. It had been weeks since he could sleep through the night without the image of Castiel getting stabbed through the heart right in front of him haunting his dreams, the ethereal glow of those blue eyes as the angel blade stole his life away while Dean watched helplessly. The way he dropped to his knees In the dirt, feeling like his heart had been ripped out, begging God to save Castiel again.

The remains of his best friend's wings spread out around his lifeless body, burned away forever...

He could still remember the first time he saw those wings - the shadows of them, anyway. He had never been a believer of angels or God until that moment. There was something so spectacular about witnessing them in the barn that night, and knowing that the being in front of him had rescued him from Hell itself, and not some demon with a score to settle.

He also was never a believer that Dean Winchester was worth much of anything until the weird guy in the flasher coat told him that he was. Even then, he doubted it. Sure, he had stopped a few apocalypses in his day, but couldn't anyone do that? He wasn't special. He wasn't a damn hero. All you had to do was have a set of brass balls and a give-em-hell attitude, nothing more.

He knew that wasn't entirely true, though, if the alternate dimension was any indication. He and Sam had never been born, so they weren't around to stop the chaos and destruction. In some ways, he envied the Sam and Dean who never were. Those two never felt loss, and pain, and grief so thick in their heart that it felt like if was going to implode on itself. Crippling depression that made you forget what day it was and when you last ate and if you have even gotten any sleep in the past week. 

Dean knew he had been spending most of his time at the library table. That much he could discern. There were rows and rows of empty bottles lining the surface, and about twenty of them strewn on the floor - some broken, some spilling their contents all over the concrete. There was a moldy peanut butter and jelly sandwich to his left, from the last time he attempted to eat something. God only knew when _that_ was. Perhaps it was the fact that PB &J's were Castiel's favorite, and that the peanut butter was the very last thing he bought before he - 

 _No_. He had to stop thinking about it.

He emptied the whiskey bottle, then threw it against the wall in frustration. He idly noticed the pile of glass that was forming under it, indicating that this wasn't the first time he had chosen that as a method of disposal. With a shrug, he rose to his feet, walking into the kitchen to grab a new bottle. He glanced at the digital clock on the stove, noting that it read 4:50, though he had no idea if it was morning or night. Dishes were piled in the sink, none of them recent, the stench of old food and mold filling the air. 

Dean couldn't remember how long he had been standing there, not drinking his whiskey, just simply staring at the filth and decay with a blank expression on his bearded face. Somewhere in the background, a long-haired man in a dingy blue robe shuffled past, grabbing his own bottle and disappearing only moments later without a word, without a spare glance to his brother. 

Everyone was gone. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Sam had wanted to give Eileen a hunter's funeral, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. They had to organize way too many of those over the years, and he didn't think he had the stomach to do it again - especially for someone as amazing as she was. It was bad enough that he had to attend his mother's funeral for the second time in his life. At least this time she got the hunter's funeral she deserved. 

Eileen had been so full of life, despite the shit she had to deal with. She had lost people too, but it didn't stop her from smiling and laughing. From tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and smiling shyly when Sam grinned at her. For the briefest of moments, he had wondered if they could become something more. Not that he had good luck with relationships in the past, of course, but a part of him had never given up hope in the 'white picket fence and 2.5 kids' dream. Maybe he was just a fool for believing in the impossible.

He could barely remember a time when he had left the hunting gig and booked it to Stanford without a second thought. It almost seemed surreal, like it had never _actually_ happened. Even now, he felt guilt over leaving his brother to handle things on his own. Sam had tried to do it a few times in their lives, but he was always pulled back in. Maybe it was his loyalty to Dean that kept him coming back or the fact that he knew it wasn't fair that _he_ got to rest comfortably at night with a warm body beside him, while Dean was off fighting demons and vampires and risking his life. Sure, he had been happy at Stanford; He had Jess, and his goals, and a real shot at normalcy. But Dean wouldn't have fit anywhere into that life, and at one time, he was willing to make that sacrifice just to make it happen.

Sam never wanted to be a hunter. He supposed he had that in common with his mom. They both sought out boring, mundane lives away from the things that went bump in the night, all for the sake of family. For _freedom_. There is no such thing as freedom for hunters, though. Once you knew that everything was real, you spent your entire life drawing sigils and warding runes on the next new place you lived, never letting your guard down once. Mary had tried to be normal, but she still had demon wards under the doormat and salt lining the windows. The only real retirement hunters got was laying dead on top of a funeral pyre. 

He stared up at his ceiling now, thinking about what he and Dean had lost over the years. Too much to count, really. Their mom, their dad, Jess, Bobby, Charlie - Castiel.  

Sam deeply mourned the loss of the angel. Castiel was his closest friend - not as close as Dean, of course, but they were still like brothers. He would have died for Castiel just as much as the angel would have died for him. He had never felt so helpless as when he was standing next to Dean and saw those blue eyes flare up, and their friend drop to the ground. It had been a long time since he had felt pure anguish like that, and that's what worried him. Because if he was feeling so much pain over it, he could only imagine how his brother was feeling. 

_Dean is **never** going to get over this._

Sam was no fool. He had known for years that Dean was in love with Castiel, and vice versa. He and Charlie used to spend hours at night on the phone or the computer, laughing about the newest thing that 'Destiel' had done. He felt like one of those weirdo fanfic writers who fangirled every time their OTP even looked at each other. And wasn't it just sad that he knew what an OTP was? 

But now Castiel was gone, and Sam didn't think that Dean would be able to recover this time. 

They had lost the angel a few times over the years, but in the back of their minds, they had always known that he would come back, one way or another. God seemed to favor Castiel, almost more than any other angel. So no matter how many times they had to see him die, they always knew God would resurrect him again. But this was the first time they had seen those charred wings on the ground. This was the first time they _knew_ God had left the building, and wouldn't be there to save the angel.

And there was no longer any hope. 

He slowly walked into the kitchen, pausing for a moment in the doorway as he spotted Dean standing there, staring blankly into a sink full of dishes. A bottle of whiskey was clutched in his hand, his hair disheveled, his face unshaven. He looked just as bad as Sam would expect. As he walked by his brother, the stench of bile and alcohol nearly made him run back out again, but he doubted he smelled any better than Dean did. He grabbed the last bottle from the cabinet and headed back towards his room without a word to Dean, not really knowing what he could possibly say to make any of this better.

_"Sorry that our mom is dead again, Dean."_

_"Sorry that the guy you're in love with is dead, man. Tough break."_

_"Hey, Dean. I know you're sad and all, but hey. At least the antichrist isn't running around, right?"_

Yeah. He's sure any of those statements would just make everything better.

He flopped back down on his bed, slowly opening the bottle and chugging it for a few seconds before replacing the cap. 

Dean was never going to get over this.


End file.
